


I'll not be climbin' up, I'll only be callin' good morning

by lavenderandroses



Series: come to my garden: my jonsa blossoms [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Evil Step-Mother, F/M, For the most part, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jonsa Spring Blossoms, Lyanna is Not a Stark, Shapeshifting, Spring Blossoms day four: birds and secrets, a little actually angsty angst, but remember: no archive warnings apply for real, fairytale AU, fluffy angst with a happy ending, folklore AU, princess in a tower, the prince as bird structure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-23 22:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandroses/pseuds/lavenderandroses
Summary: Princess Sansa, the rightful queen, has been trapped in a tower by her usurping step-mother for nigh on three years now. Between the benevolent interference of a local woods-witch, the seemingly random appearance of a dashing young man on a horse, and a magical book that Sansa uses to turn a man into a crow, she may have found a way to change her stars.Title from "Show Me the Key," from the musical The Secret Garden, by Lucy Simon and Marsha Norman.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story uses the folktale structures "the prince as bird" (Aarne–Thompson type 432) and "maiden in the tower" (Aarne–Thompson type 310). As a result, you'll see similarities with the Rapunzel story, among others, and particularly from the Italian fairytale "The Canary Prince," as written by Italo Calvino, from which I borrowed some specific elements.

In the time just before the great Age of Prosperity was the reign of the wicked Queen Cersei.

Queen Cersei had not been born to be queen, but she believed it was her destiny to become one; when she was but a girl, she stumbled upon Maggy, the hedge witch seer, who told her as much. When the Good Queen Catelyn passed away, tragically, and left behind her grieving widower, King Eddard, Cersei saw her chance. She made herself seen and known in the capitol, masking her cold heart and scheming mind behind a lovely smile. Tales of her beauty and courteousness spread until the king made her acquaintance, and soon determined she would be an appropriate consort, for the realm desperately desired a queen. Not only that, but his young daughter needed a mother.

The daughter was a wrinkle in Cersei’s plans. Cersei would have loved her own children if she ever had them, but this girl was not her daughter. At only ten years of age, she clearly possessed the King’s heart more strongly than Cersei did, but there was also the witch’s prophecy to contend with. She had told Cersei she would become queen, yes, but also that when she thought herself invincible there would come a younger queen, more beautiful even than Cersei herself, to cast her down and take her throne. As the King’s daughter, Sansa, grew, her beauty blossomed in both body and soul, which caused Cersei greater and greater worry.

In the winter of Cersei’s eighth year as queen, King Eddard was taken unexpectedly ill. The royal physicians had not seen it coming, but now that he had taken to his bed, they feared he would never leave it. The queen began to worry—not for her husband’s health, but for her own position. If the king were to die, that _perfect_ daughter of his would rise to become queen. She would occupy the throne upon which Cersei had worked so hard to sit! And this, Cersei decided, simply would not do.

With the king on his deathbed, Queen Cersei forged his signature and cast out all his loyal advisors. When she brought in her trusted cronies, she sent out an order: the eighteen-year-old Princess Sansa would be arrested, for poisoning her own father to gain his throne before her time, and locked in a tall tower in the Wolfswood in the far reaches of the country. With no one to oppose her, Cersei’s wishes were carried out, the good and kind princess was removed from the capitol and rumored to be dead, and the king passed away in his sleep, leaving no one to the throne but Queen Cersei, first of her name.


	2. Princess

_Six yards velvet (aquamarine)_  
Seashells  
Threads for embroidering (white, yellow-gold, silver)  
Small beads  
Flour  
Lemons  
Fresh eggs

Sansa knew that asking for ingredients for lemon cakes and for materials for full new dress were pushing the limits of Cersei’s generosity, but she had lived in this tower for near three years in truly austere fashion. Her lists of requests, given to Cersei’s most trusted servant, Qyburn, were typically for her basic needs only; rarely, she would ask for more books or the occasional diversion. But as Sansa approached her twenty-first name day, she figured there was no harm in asking.

When she was a girl, she knew that her twenty-first name day would be a special one. According to tradition, it would be the year she would be married to a husband, someone brave and gentle and strong, who would rule alongside her after the death of her parents, as she was their only heir. But her parents’ deaths had come too early, and here she was, alone. She wondered if any in the country knew their rightful queen was locked away in a tower. She thought not. It would be Cersei’s most cherished secret, no doubt. Did they think her dead? A traitor? Still living in the castle, allowing her step-mother to enact increasingly harsh policies upon _her_ citizens?

Of course, Sansa only knew about the goings-on in the realm from her secret visitor. Qyburn may bring her supplies, true, but after Sansa had been in the tower for just a few weeks, she had heard the voice of an old crone singing a strange song outside her window. That voice had belonged to an old witch who lived in the nearby woods.

“Call me Aunt Mags,” she had called to Sansa from the base of her tower. She could not bring Sansa down, nor could she come up, but she did help Sansa fashion a basket and a rope into a pulley where she could bring Sansa other supplies to keep her happy and suppress the boredom. She would visit sporadically; sometimes Sansa would see her every day for a week, and sometimes it would be a month before she would return. Aunt Mags knew always to avoid running into Qyburn on his weekly visits to the tower, and she taught Sansa some simple charms to keep him from noticing the extra supplies Sansa had accumulated in her tower when he would come up to inspect to report back to the queen.

“What if I were to push him out the window of my tower? Then I might be free,” Sansa had once said to Aunt Mags.

“Lass, you know well as I do it would be a poor substitution for pushing that step-mother of yours out a window. You’d be stuck in this tower without a way down, with less food. And you _also_ know that you could no more kill a man than harm a bluebird. You’re too good, and that’s why she put you here in the first place!”

Sansa knew Aunt Mags was right, so she had continued to bear Qyburn’s visits with a smile to mask her distress. She hoped that goodwill had been enough to buy her some extravagances to celebrate her name day.

Sansa’s wishing was interrupted by the sounds of a horse and rider outside her window. _Qyburn isn’t due until tomorrow!_ Her stomach dropped, fearing that a change in routine might mean the queen had changed her plans for Sansa, or that someone else might find out about her existence and try to use her to their advantage. Sansa mustered her courage and sidled up to her window, hoping to get a glimpse of her interloper.

“Woah, boy, woah!” called a young man upon a white horse. “What’s gotten into you? I think you’ve ridden me out of the country!”

Sansa’s eyes widened. This was _not_ Qyburn, nor did it look like someone who might be a servant of her stepmother. Nay, it didn’t even look like someone who was there on purpose. It just seemed like a normal, l normal, lost fellow. A _very handsome_ lost fellow. And, truly, what harm could there be in giving a word of direction to a _very handsome_ , lost stranger? _It’s not like he could hurt me in my tower, anyway_. Swallowing her nerves, Sansa moved fully into the window’s opening, and called out to the man.


	3. Rider

“Are you lost, good ser?”

Jon looked around frantically, searching for the voice that had called out to him. There was no one standing near him in the clearing, or around the base of the tower which stood there. Still trying to rein in his horse, he whipped his head ‘round again.

“Ser, I am up here!” the voice called again, from somewhere above his head. He looked up, positioning the sun behind the tower to see properly, and a window came into focus. A window, and a young woman.

 _Gods be good_ , he thought, unable to keep his jaw from hanging open at the sight of her. For she was _beautiful_. Redder hair than on any maiden he’d ever seen, long and silky. Even from a distance, he could tell that her face couldn’t have been more beautiful if she’d been carved out of marble by the masters. Her nose a delicate point and her cheekbones high and prominent, her lips were pulled in a closed smile as she gazed at him quizzically.

“Forgive me for startling you, but I heard you talking to your horse and I would offer my assistance, if indeed you are lost. Tell me, from whence did you ride here?”

When she spoke again, Jon came back to his senses. He tried to bow to her from his horse’s back and nearly fell off, so he decided replying may just be his best course of action.

“Fair maiden! Forgive me for trespassing in your home! I was riding in the far reaches of the Dragonlands, just before the land gives way to the Wolfswood, where I suspect I may be now? Tell me, are we in Queen Cersei’s lands?”

“Aye, Ser Rider, to the best of my knowledge, we’re in the Direwolf Realms. How did you come to pass from the Dragonlands unintentionally? It is well known that the beginning of the forest marks the border.”

“Ah, yes, thank you. My horse here, he bolted straight for the woods. I’m not sure what spooked him, but one moment I was surveying the fork in the river and the next we were barreling toward the trees. He must have charged for five minutes!”

The lady’s brow furrowed. “Truly, ser, are we that close to the Dragonlands? As you can see, I only have my one window, and it faces north, so all I can see is the Wolfswood in the Direwolf Realms. I had no idea I have been so close to the border this whole time!”

_This whole time? And how could a person live somewhere and not know where they were?_

“My lady, forgive me, I have not asked your name.”

“There is nothing to forgive, ser, for I have not offered it.”

Jon waited for her to continue. She did not. Only then did he begin to grow wary. _Curse you, Jon. Too blinded by her beauty to consider that you’re outside your home realm now and might be a liability. You must remain guarded._

“Then, lady, I shall introduce myself. My name is Jon, and I was only sent as a surveyor near to your border. Now that I have shared my name, will you consider telling me yours?”

“I am...Alayne. I live in this tower, and I am to see no one. Now that you know my window faces north, I suppose you can find your way back out of the Wolfswood.”

“Very well, Alayne. Thank you for your help.”

She smiled and backed away from the window. Jon hied his horse forward, back past her tower and toward his homeland, his head full of questions and his heart still clenching from her beauty.


	4. Auntie

_Jon. His name is Jon._ Sansa had not seen a person beside Qyburn and Aunt Mags in almost three years. In fact, she had come to the conclusion that Aunt Mags must have put wards around her clearing to keep her safe from wanderers who would view her as a curiosity and stir up trouble that would ultimately just put Sansa at risk. So how, then, did this stranger, this _Jon_ , accidentally ride his steed into her yard?

After the hoofbeats had subsided, Sansa was not left to wonder for very long. Soon she heard the lilting whistling that signaled a visit from Aunt Mags. Sansa collected the basket she sent down every time Aunt Mags visited and bounded back to the window.

“Auntie, you won’t believe what I’ve just seen!”

Aunt Mags squinted up at her. “Was it dark-haired, pretty-faced, and riding around on a white horse?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. Of course Aunt Mags had seen him, or sensed him. She wouldn’t doubt that Aunt Mags had orchestrated his arrival entirely. “Very well, you might believe it, then. Tell me, did you spook his horse and send him right to this very spot?”

Aunt Mags gave her best attempt at being scandalized, completely convincing Sansa of her interference. “I don’t know what you might be talking about. I’m just an old hedge-witch, making poultices and occasionally casting good luck charms upon unsuspecting good folk.”

“Of course, Auntie,” Sansa laughed. “Very well. Since you did _not_ send that young man here, I’m sure it won’t bother you that I simply gave him directions back to his home and sent him on his way. I didn’t even tell him my true name.” Sansa chuckled again at the look of annoyance on Mags’s face. “And since that isn’t the reason for your visit today, pray, what brings you here?”

“Well, since I _couldn’t_ have had anything to do with it, of course I’m just here with some things for you to have. A handful of kidney pies, meant to last you a few days, some flasks of water from the spring, and...a book.” _Strangely evasive, even for Aunt Mags_.

“A book? Auntie, what book? Is it one of the tales of Florian the Fool? A treatise from old Barth? Please let it be something romantic, I’ve been awfully bored.”

“Romantic! Yes, I think you will find it romantic. Call it an early name day present, my little wolf. Here they are, in your basket, and I must be off now. Many things to tend to today!” She turned and took a few paces before stopping and facing Sansa once more. “If you have any other visitors, mayhap you can talk about your book with them! Surely it would be a wonderful starter for a nice chat!”

“Auntie!” Sansa called back, even as the woman hastened out of the clearing. She preferred when Mags would stay and visit, but a basket was better than nothing. Sansa pulled it up and took one of the meat pies to eat while they were fresh, and pulled out this mysterious book that was bound in black leather.

_The Dragon Crow_ , read the first page. There was no author listed.

The sun peaked, the afternoon waned, and finally the light dwindled in the sky as Sansa read, captivated, a tale of a Targaryen prince who loved his lady so dearly that he learned to transform into a crow to fly to her after their parents forbade them from seeing each other. But after a time, she became ill and heartsick, and perished. In his grief, he remained a crow, forsaking his throne and bearing ominous tidings to young lovers everywhere. _Romantic, maybe_ , thought Sansa, closing the book, _but so tragic! I don’t know why this would be my birthday gift. Aunt Mags always has been an odd bird._

Sansa dreamed that night of a giant crow-prince, come to take her away from her tower. She woke to Qyburn’s approach, and his reserved indication that she _may_ be permitted some luxuries for her name day, which was truly more than she had hoped for. She passed the next few days in her usual way: reading, sewing, baking breads, singing. On the fourth day after Qyburn’s visit (the fifth since her strange caller and Aunt Mags’s last appearance), she was in the midst of kneading dough when she froze, her ears picking up the distant sound of horse hoofs.

She put down the ball she was working on and made for the window. The hoof beats were growing louder. _Is it Qyburn come back? Or could it be my visitor, returning to me with purpose this time?_ She held her breath as the horse came closer and closer, and gasped when a familiar white horse burst into the clearing, with a now-familiar mop of curly hair bouncing on its rider’s head.

When he reined his horse today, he didn’t stay atop and bow as he had tried before, but jumped onto the ground and raised his eyes to her window.

“Lady Alayne! We meet again. I wanted to thank you for your help when last we met.”

Sansa smiled. “And you rode all this way into the woods just to thank me for helping you get out of them?”

He smiled back at her, bolder than he had been before. “Well, now I know where I am, so it seems I can come and go as I please. And I wondered if you might come down and share a meal with me.”


	5. Guest

Alayne’s face darkened, her ravishing smile gone in an instant. _Damn_ , Jon berated himself. _Too much too quickly. This is why this is more my brother’s territory than mine_.

“Forgive me, I may be too bold. Of course I understand if you don’t want to make yourself vulnerable to a stranger. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—“

“No, no!” she cried, more distressed now than guarded. “No, please, that isn’t it. No, I would happily join you. It’s just...I’m afraid I _can’t_.”

Jon frowned. “You aren’t allowed to see visitors?”

A sad smile came out of Alayne’s distress. “No, ser. You see, I cannot leave this tower. You will find the way is blocked, shut by some magic. I spend my time here, alone, except when I am sent supplies. It’s strange, I know, but I shouldn’t dare tell you why, lest I put you in danger.”

_A maid...trapped in a tower. What story am I in?_ Jon wondered. Some things in his life may have sounded like things out of a tale, but never something so strange as this. _If she spends all here time there with no one else, surely she must be lonesome_. He couldn’t leave her now.

“Then, Lady Alayne, would you allow me to stay and take my supper here, under your tower? We may pretend that we are eating together, even though we are at a distance.”

Though her smile was still guarded, it was more genuine than her last one had been. “One moment!” She disappeared from the window. He could hear muffled clattering through the window.

“Alayne?” he called, when she had not reappeared after a moment.

She popped back into the window, a streak of flour running along her hairline to her ear. “I needed to put my loaf in the oven, so that I might eat with you. Of course, I should enjoy that very much.”

The next hours passed quickly, the two calling up and down to each other. They spoke of many things, though Jon knew he needed to be guarded about the details of his situation. But he still spoke of his older brother and sister, his father, his late mother. Alayne spoke to him of her parents, both deceased, and how she spent her time in the tower. The two talked of books, of history, of songs they enjoyed. When the sun began to set, Jon found himself reticent to leave.

As he reluctantly packed away his belongings, he looked to Alayne, barely visible in the sunlight but illuminated from behind by the soft glow of candles.

“Alayne. I am grateful that you let me take up so much of your time. I don’t know when I last enjoyed myself so much, especially with a conversation partner so far away.”

The dying sunrays glinted off her teeth as she smiled down at him. “And, for all that I haven’t spoken to anyone new in several years, I quite think that even if I had, this would have been my favorite conversation of all of them.”

The chill in the air grew quickly as the pregnant silence rang between them.

“Would you—“

“May I return tomorrow?” Jon began at the same time. Her smile grew.

“I would like that very much.”


	6. Sansa

Jon returned the next day, and their conversation resumed. That night he again asked if he could return, and Sansa heartily acquiesced. At the end of the third day, though, Sansa knew she must warn him away.

“Jon, before you ask, I fear I must tell you that it isn’t safe for you to come back tomorrow. Tomorrow is when I am brought my supplies, and I fear that you would be in danger if the man who brings them were to see you.” She wished so dearly to tell him to come and slay Qyburn, stealing his keys and breaking his spells, but she wasn’t sure Jon would be his match without some magical advantage.

Jon shook his head, but she hoped he trusted her enough by now that he might heed her warning.

“Aye, then, I shall not return tomorrow. But is there anything stopping me from returning the next day?”

Her heart squeezed in her chest. She had hoped he would offer.

“Yes, please. Until then, Jon.”

“Until then, Alayne.”

“Wait, Jon—“

He turned from his horse back to her.

“I have one more thing to tell you. I haven’t been completely honest about some things, though I think you understand why. But I wanted to tell you this one thing: my name isn’t Alayne. It’s Sansa.”

He studied her for a long moment. A gentle smile appeared on his lips “Sansa, then. Until then, Sansa.”

 

With Qyburn’s visit the next morning came the dress supplies Sansa had requested and the promise of the lemon cake ingredients to come the week before her name day, to her great surprise and delight. She hoped to fashion a new dress for herself, but now that she had a visitor who might appreciate such a dress, it was even more exciting to be able to do so. And she had not had a lemon cake since before her imprisonment. She thanked Qyburn, trying to mask her true level of excitement lest he take some of her joys away or make the queen worried that she was enjoying her imprisonment a little too much, for she feared it would put herself and Jon in danger. _Maybe even Auntie Mags_ , she thought, watching Qyburn ride away north.

Aunt Mags! She hadn’t given much thought to Aunt Mags since she last saw her, but she remembered now her advice to bring up the book with Jon. Though strange and sad, the story was one she now thought he might enjoy, especially being from the Dragonlands himself. _And maybe being in love with a woman he cannot be with, too_ , though perhaps she hoped it more than thought it to be true.

She took the book out to look through it again, and reread what had been her favorite parts of it. She again dreamed of a giant crow-prince, but this time he came to her tower and transformed into Jon.

Sansa awoke early the next morning in anticipation of his visit. He did not disappoint, riding into her clearing but two hours after the sun rose above the horizon. She greeted him exuberantly.

“Good morning, Jon! I hope your day went well.”

He called back to her as he hitched his mount. “Well, if I’m being honest, it wasn’t the best day I’ve had in a while, but I’m back now, so I know today will be better.” The smile he gave her set butterflies dancing in her stomach. “And how was your day? Did you get everything you needed?”

“More, even, thank I expected,” she told him. She had debated whether or not she should tell him this, but, “I believe it’s due to my name day, coming up just after the equinox three weeks hence.”

“Oh? What did he bring you?”

“Materials for a new dress. My mother taught me sewing and embroidery when I was young, and I’ve loved it ever since. Since I’ve been living here, I haven’t had much opportunity to make anything truly new or nice for myself.”

“I’d love to see you in a new dress,” was Jon’s reply, before his eyes widened and darted to the ground and his face flushed bright pink. Sansa could feel a similar heat in her cheeks.

“Would that you could,” she said gently. When he looked back at her, even from a distance she knew his gaze was heated and that hers must be too. _Can I truly love a man I’ve just met?_

_Oh, Sansa. Even if you’ve just met him, you know him better than you’ve known anyone in a very long time. And he knows you. Perhaps he loves you as well._

Love. Of course she would wait her whole life to fall in love, only to be locked in a tower when it happened, stories above his head. Would that she could fly to him. _The book!_

“Have you ever heard of a book called _The Dragon Crow_?” she asked him.

“It doesn’t ring a bell, but who wrote it? Mayhap that will jog my memory.”

Sansa frowned. “I don’t actually know. My copy doesn’t say. It’s a book about a prince from the Dragonlands. He’s in love, but he’s parted from the woman and devastated. So he learns magic to transform himself into a crow to fly to her, but he can’t be himself around her and she succumbs to the heartbreak. I just thought you might know it.”

It was Jon’s turn to frown. “That’s very sad. I think I would remember it if I had read it, so I’m afraid I haven’t. Do you have a copy? Maybe you can read me some.”

Sansa went back into her rooms and grabbed her book. As she walked back to the window, she flipped through the pages to find one of her favorite passages. Stopping upon it, she heard Jon’s horse whinny below. She looked out the window expecting Jon to be calming him, but he was not.

In fact, Jon wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Where he had been standing, there stood a shiny, black crow.


	7. Crow

_I may be a dragon, but I’ve never had wings before_ , mused Jon. He must be dreaming, or hallucinating, or maybe even dead, but in any case, he had shrunk significantly and could now see two black wings where his arms should be and what he suspected was a beak between his eyes. He could hear Sansa screaming from her tower, and wished he could reassure her that he was alright—he supposed—but that he was a bird now. Was she seeing this too? Could she tell that the bird was him?

 _If I’m a bird, though, maybe I can finally go to her_.

He needed no further thought. Instinctually, he launched himself from the ground and hoped that Sansa could forgive the crow that was now barreling toward her window. As he zoomed in, he saw her jump out of his way before he realized he wasn’t sure how to land. He crashed onto a table, nearly knocking a crock of butter onto the floor. When he stood and shook himself off, he saw Sansa’s face just feet away from his own, wide-eyed and gape-jawed.

 _She truly is more beautiful than I could have imagined. Those blue eyes! I could look into them all day. Too bad she can’t look into mine, because I’m a damn bird. I’m not a_ talking _bird, am I?_ Stranger things had happened, like being transformed into a bird in the first place, so he decided to give it a try.

“Caw!”

_Oh well._

Sansa’s mouth closed at that and she squinted as to examine him.

“...Jon?”

“Caw!” _It’s me!_ he wanted to say.

“Did...did I do this?”

He didn’t know the answer to that, so he tilted his head at her. A look of horror spread over her face.

“Did my _book_ do this? Is this what Aunt Mags had planned when she told me to bring up that book? By all the gods, why? Why would she do this?” Sansa was quickly working into hysterics. Jon hopped toward her, wishing he could comfort her somehow. She looked around the room frantically, grabbing the book they had been talking about just before this happened. “There has to be _something_ in here, some enchantment that made this happen, I just don’t know ho—“ she flipped through the pages, and Jon felt himself growing as he watched his black plumage shrink back to pink skin.

“Sansa?”

She looked up from the book and shrieked.

“Sansa, it’s alright, I’m fine, I’m fine. I was just...a bird?” He heard what he was saying and began to laugh. “I was a bird? I was a bird! You turned me into a bird! How did you do that?” He was laughing so hard he worried he would fall onto the floor. Sansa still eyed him warily.

“I—I’m not sure what I did. I think...I think I may have just fanned through the pages of the book I was telling you about? Both times that you, well, _changed_.” She flipped one page cautiously as he got his laughter under control. Nothing. She turned another page. Nothing. But then she grabbed at least an inch of pages at once and flipped through them with her thumb. _Oh no_.

Once again, Jon felt himself shrinking and sprouting feathers, but just as he reached the size of a bird he began to shoot back up into himself. Sansa had fanned through the book a second time.

“That must be it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It doesn’t hurt you, does it? I’m sorry I did it without warning, I wasn’t sure that’s what did it.”

He was less amused this time, but he wasn’t frightened. After all, strange magical things happened to people not infrequently in their world, and perhaps this was a gift, of a sort. Sansa was still looking curiously between him and the book, but he stepped forward and placed his hand on hers. She froze.

“Sansa,” he began, quietly. This was the first time they could talk without needing to shout. _But then, this may be the first time another person has touched her in years_ , he realized. He drew his hand back. “Sansa. No matter how it happened, somehow I’ve been given a chance to come up to you. And I can’t regret that.”

When she met his eyes, he saw tears adding sparkle to the blue. “You’re truly here,” she breathed.

“Aye.”

She held his gaze. He stayed still, so as not to frighten her.

“Jon,” she sobbed, and leapt into his arms.


	8. Lovebirds

She clutched him fiercely, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He was _here_. In the flesh. In her tower, where no one had been except herself and Qyburn. He was warm and he smelled of pine and sweat and something almost fiery, and he was _real_. She knew that clutching him so tightly would have been highly improper in any other circumstances for a lady such as herself, but she couldn’t bear to let him go until she was sure he was real.

“Where did you get that book, then?” he asked as her sobbing subsided. She reluctantly released him and picked up the book delicately.

“I have—well, I have one friend, I would say, who sometimes comes to visit me. She can’t come up to see me, but she will bring me extra supplies and books and gifts. She is a hedge-witch, she says, but she didn’t outright say that this book was magic. I don’t know that it could be her magic, but I would wager she knew what it could do when she gave it to me. Somehow, I think she knew you would find your way here, and then return to me.”

She studied Jon’s face carefully as he took the book from her hands and inspected it. She couldn’t decipher his thoughts as he stared at the title page.

“ _The Dragon Crow_ ,” he read. She had already told him the title, but something in his troubled gaze made her wonder if he was considering it differently now. He hadn’t seemed to be upset about the whole thing, which Sansa couldn’t quite understand, but now that their initial shock (and joy) had worn off somewhat, they could begin to consider the implications of this piece of magic.

He offered no insight on his thoughts, and Sansa wished more than anything not to waste their time together. She busied herself preparing a small spread of food they might share.

Over their breakfast, they considered together what this might mean. Sansa was relieved to find that Jon seemed amenable to transforming between a human and a bird if it meant being able to spend time together. After breakfast, Sansa was eager to show Jon around her tower, and that afternoon they tested the transformation a few more times to be sure they knew how it worked, and that it was consistent. The day passed even more quickly than they had come to expect, and as the sun began to set, they said an awkward goodbye.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Sansa told him softly, picking the book up one more time.

“I will come back. I swear it.” She nodded at him, took a breath, and thumbed the pages of the book. He shrunk quickly into the black bird who had flown into her window hours ago, and she set him atop the windowsill to fly back to the ground. Once she knew him to be safely landed, she thumbed the book again and looked down to find her Jon, safely unhitching his horse. He mounted and rode to the edge of the clearing but stopped to look back at her, a sad smile on his lips and a wave of his hand.

 

Sansa slept fretfully, for fear he would be afraid to return to her. She needn’t have worried. There he was, the next morning, and with a move of her hand he was able to fly to her. With another, he was once again at her table, sharing her morning meal. Every day he came back, and she would work on her dress while he read to her or shared stories about the things he would see while he was surveying, though he wasn’t spending much time on that right now since he spent all his time with her. He again stayed away the morning of Qyburn's visit, but he was back in the afternoon. Sansa found it hard to accept even that little bit of time away from him, but she knew it was for the best. When he was there, it felt like home. Their routine continued for another week, before it was again time for her weekly visit from Qyburn.

After the last time, Jon had suggested that he could still be there, but as a bird, while Qyburn made his visit, to offer her strength and to make the most of their time together. She had shut him down immediately. While she wished they didn't have to spend the time apart, but she was still firmly of the opinion that Jon shouldn’t come anywhere near at all while Qyburn was there. Jon disagreed.

“Sansa, I can hide my horse in the woods in the opposite direction and then walk here. While he’s here, I can perch in a tree, or atop the tower. He would have no reason to suspect that I’m a person!”

Sansa shook her head. “It’s too dangerous, Jon. I know him, I know how he sees so much more than a normal person would. And moreover, I know who he reports to. She wouldn’t forgive you for keeping me company, and she would never forgive me for allowing you to be here. I worry they would find a way to hurt you!”

“Sansa, if I’m a crow, I can simply fly away if they try to hurt me, can’t I? And they won’t! And even if they do, Sansa, I won’t let them hurt you.” He took her hand in his. He had touched her only rarely since that first day, and it sent chills down her spine whenever he did.

“They could do anything, Jon,” she whispered. “They could drive you away and take away the book, and then you’d be a crow forever. Don’t you have a family who would miss you? And what about me? How can you protect me if you’re a bird?”

His eyes darkened. “I’ll protect you, I promise. Sansa, I—I would never let anything happen to you. Never.”

She took him in, sighing quietly. She didn’t think this was an argument she could win.

“Very well. You must get here even earlier, though, so I may transform you before he gets here. I don’t want to risk him seeing you in person.”

Jon chuckled gently and rubbed a circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. “Aye, I wouldn’t want that, either. Until the morning, then.”

They were silent as she transformed him back into his crow form, sent him down, and changed him back.

“Before dawn!” she called as he stepped into his stirrup.

He nodded with a smile. She knew he would be true to his word, and she hoped that would be enough.


	9. Henchman

Qyburn shivered as he made his way into the tower clearing. An hour after sunrise at this time of year, the chill had mostly departed from the air, but something about the general atmosphere was...off. _Never mind_ , he told himself. _You’ll get to the bottom of it eventually. No need to rush_.

He dismounted his horse and unburdened it of its saddlebags. There wasn’t much to bring the Princess today, only some basic foodstuffs. She would be getting more extravagances next week; he thought his Queen might be trying to lure her into a sense of security before unleashing some new punishment upon her, which delighted him. He hoped he could be of assistance in whatever torment she chose.

“Lady Stark!” he called. He would never call her Princess within her hearing. A diverting torment of his own devising. He did not need an answer, only to alert her of his presence so she could make herself decent. He walked around the tower to the hidden door, and noted that the atmosphere on the south side of the tower was even more off than on the north side. _More to ponder, then_.

With a dark murmured word, the door appeared to him and opened. He climbed the winding stairs and pulled out the key that unlocked the door to the princess’ personal chambers. He knocked three times, as was his way, and opened the door.

He found the Princess Sansa sitting on her chaise, stitching at something. It looked as though she was using the materials he had brought her two week prior, and he felt comfort that she was not wasting the queen’s kind gift.

“My lady,” he said after setting down her supplies. He gave a bow so low as to be mocking. “How fare you this fine morning?”

She looked up at him calmly. “I am well, Lord Qyburn. Thank you for bringing me my foodstuffs today, and thank you again for allowing me these fine materials. They have been very gratifying to work on this last fortnight. Would you like to see what I am making with them?”

While Qyburn maintained his composure, he was surprised at the princess’ willingness to engage with him. “Of course, my lady. Your stitching was always so fine when you were a girl.”

She nodded, beckoning him closer. He curiously closed the distance to see the mantle of cloth she held out for him to look at. It was a direwolf, the sign of her house and her kingdom, baring its teeth. Embellishment flowed from the wolf’s mouth and around its head.

“It’s not quite finished, but when it is, it will be the crowning piece of the gown I’m working on for my name day. Do you like it?”

 _Not quite finished, though she’s had two weeks. I know she works faster than that._ “It is very well made, my lady, and surely will be a testament to your step-mother’s kingdom.” He hoped that barb would land well, but the princess seemed unfazed. “I am again reminded to tell you that we will be granting your request of lemons, to be delivered when I return in a week's time. Will that be all, my lady?”

Sansa nodded at him once more. “Thank you again for your kindnesses, Lord Qyburn. I shall look forward to your return.” She returned to her stitching and he went about the work of locking and resealing the tower. The princess was always courteous to him, of course, but something about her attitude was different today. She never reeked of despair, she was too noble to break to that in less than three years, but she usually radiated indifference. He could finally pinpoint what he had felt in the air when he arrived: _hope_. So much that it wafted out of her tower window, and down the stairs behind him as he left. It had been concentrated in her rooms, which had made it easier to determine.

It still didn’t explain, though, why he could sense not just her hope, but someone else’s hope as well. He seated himself on his horse and rode away, but only as far as to be out of earshot. He tied up his horse there in the Wolfswood and returned on foot to investigate further.

Yes, there was someone else here, but who could it be? And where were they, and why had they come? He had never before sensed another person’s presence, certainly not one as emotional as this. Qyburn made his way to the forest on the south side of the tower where he had noticed the strangeness earlier.

It didn’t take long for him to come upon a horse, saddled for riding and tied to a tree. The horse had hooks for saddlebags but no bags on him, so its owner must have left them behind somewhere. But, yes, this horse was certainly the horse that had borne the other person to the tower.

As there was no window on the south side of the tower to hide the princess’ whereabouts from her, he could approach that way confidently. He sidled around the tower as far as he dared, and listened intently to decipher what was happening in the rooms above.

 _Laughter_. The princess was laughing! Certainly there was nothing funny in any of the materials he had ever brought her. The only indulgences she had been allowed were either tragic stories or things to keep her hands busy, but designed to break her spirit. What could she be laughing about? He continued to listen. More laughter, and...was that...a crow? The _caw_ of a bird was unmistakable, and it was coming from her window. More laughter, and then, to Qyburn’s great surprise, her laughter was joined by that of a _man_.

He had heard of enchantments like these before. A simple charmed object that could turn a person into an animal and then back into a human. He didn’t know how the princess had gotten her hands on such an item, or who the visitor was, but he knew he needed to tell the queen immediately.


	10. Step-mother

Cersei’s knuckles blanched as she clenched the arm rests of her throne. _A man, visiting Sansa in her tower. Making her_ laugh. _Giving her_ hope. _Disgusting._

She had barely believed Qyburn’s news, but she knew there was no reason for the man to be lying. _What if this is how it begins? Could he help free her, allowing her to take what is mine? No, I won’t allow it._

“Very good work, Qyburn, as always. There is a reason you are my most trusted advisor. Here is what I wish: devise an excuse to the rest of my council as to why I will be out of the capitol nine days hence, with only you as company. When you go to my step-daughter in a sennight, inform her that you will be coming again two days later for the occasion of her name day, and that I will be accompanying you. Leave her with her lemons for those infernal cakes she loves so very much, but leave her with something else as well: is there any enchantment you know that may prevent this man from flying through her window, or might hurt him in the process?”

Qyburn took a moment, but snapped in excitement. “My queen, I may know just the thing. I have read of a spell that will create a barrier of thorns, but thorns that are not visible to the eye. I believe it may be tailored to sit within a window, and further to only target the crow-man, so that she may not suspect it before it desperately wounds him.”

Cersei smiled. This was what she had been waiting for, even if she hadn’t known it. Putting Sansa in that tower was never the final solution, but killing her seemed both too damning and too unsatisfying. She needed to truly break the girl’s spirit, and this way she wouldn’t have to move her or incriminate herself in any way. There would be no trail; only a dead crow and a devastated brat of a step-daughter. Cersei would arrive two days later for the girl’s name day and be able to see the results of her efforts, even sweeter for knowing what Sansa’s life would be like if she had been allowed to become queen. Surely the girl will know that in another life, she would be getting married that day, but instead, her heart will crumble for good. It was the perfect ending to ensure Cersei her happily ever after.


	11. Pierced

Jon had never known such bliss as the last two weeks. He had always hoped for a quiet future, of finding someone to love. A maiden in a tower had not been his plan, but how could he help but love her? He had found Sansa’s heart to be as beautiful as her outward person, and though there were still things he had not told her about his identity, he knew he could be his true self with her. He also knew that she had secrets, too, but he trusted that in the end both their secrets could be revealed.

He still wasn’t sure who had locked her in this tower. It must have been a family member, but Sansa was so careful not to let slip how she had gotten there. He had watched from a distance last week as the man who brought her food came and went before joining her in the tower, but he didn’t want to speak of him to Sansa other than to put her fears to rest for good about their risk of being uncovered.

“He didn’t see me, at all, Sansa, and he left back north straightaway, just as I suspected he would. There’s nothing to worry about. I could be right above you, perched on the roof next time, if you’d like. You were wonderful, not a care in the world.”

She had bitten her lip in doubt until his teasing puppy-dog eyes had gotten the best of her, and she had laughed with him, her worries forgotten. Their week continued much like the last week, in quiet intimacy of spirit.

He would eventually have to figure out how to get her out of there, and how to do so without endangering her from whatever family had put her there. He supposed he could probably protect her well-enough in his home, even if he had hoped to put most of that life behind him. But who would be able to harm the wife of a prince?

For that is what Jon had refrained from telling Sansa. He had come close when she told him her true name, and closer still upon their first discovery of her book’s magic. For he _was_ a dragon crow, but she didn’t know that. He liked it better this way, allowing her to know him for who he was, not for his title or his pretentious name. _Aemon Targaryen_. It didn’t roll off the tongue, but it was still better than his elder brother, Aegon. And Aegon would be king when their father died, not he. Even if something were to happen to Aegon, Jon’s sister Rhaenys was also older, the second child of their father’s first wife. Jon was the third child, third in line to his father’s throne, and his father was still in good health. Even though King Rhaegar was an unpleasant person, he was a just ruler to his peoples. Jon appreciated the privileges he grew up with and the opportunities they afforded him, but sometimes he yearned for a simpler life like the one his mother had before she married his father. His mother had come from the Direwolf Realms herself, the daughter of a lesser noble, before his father coveted her and spirited her back to the Dragonlands. Perhaps that was why he had so eagerly accepted the offer to personally survey the border between the two realms when his father had presented it just weeks ago.

Whatever had spooked his horse into these woods, he would be grateful for it for the rest of his life. It had changed everything, brought him his true love. For she was that, and he had resolved this morning to tell her so as soon as he could. Qyburn would be coming soon, and Sansa had already made him a crow, but in the afternoon, after he was safely in her presence, he would tell her he loved her, and tell her the truth of his parentage, and hope she felt the same way.

He knew Sansa was more excited for Qyburn’s visit than usual, as he would be bringing her lemons to make lemon cakes, which she had told him many times were her favorite thing to eat. Feeling bolder after not being spotted the week before, he perched on the roof of the tower, near the window, that he might hear their conversation.

Qyburn had taken larger sacks up to Sansa’s chambers than he had the previous week, when Jon had watched him from a distance. He heard them exchange pleasantries, and Sansa’s delight as she inspected the sacks of lemons she had been given. He assumed Qyburn would leave quickly afterward as he had last week, so he listened for their goodbyes.

“Thank you for the gifts, and send my thanks to my step-mother as well. I shall see you upon the next week, Lord Qyburn,” Sansa was saying to him.

“Ah, yes, about that,” Qyburn began. Jon’s breath caught in his chest. Perhaps Qyburn would not be returning the next week? Perhaps, since Sansa was about to reach twenty-one, they would let her be free?

“Next week will not be when you next see me,” he continued. “For your royal step-mother, our gracious queen, has decided that she would come see you for herself on the occasion of your name day two days hence. She and I will return then. She is eager to see how you have put her gifts to use.”

Jon heard nothing else. If he had not been a black bird, he would have been ghostly pale. _Her step-mother, the_ queen _, is coming here? This is Sansa_ Stark _, the daughter of King Eddard, who went missing some few years ago and was never seen since?_ He could not have begun to articulate his shock, nor his own folly in not piecing together her story. He couldn’t blame her, he had himself hidden his noble roots, but this was something else entirely. Finally proof that Queen Cersei, whose policies had slowly been driving her people into despair, was truly evil; she had kidnapped and imprisoned her own step-daughter and stolen her throne.

Queen Cersei. Not only was she Sansa’s step-mother, she would be _here_ in two days’ time. Perhaps Jon might be able to ride all the way to Summerhall tomorrow and be back by the evening with reinforcements to spirit his love away? No, he would need at least an extra half day, and he would have much to discuss with Sansa in the meantime. Maybe if he could leave immediately, it could work. They would have to talk _quickly_.

He came back to himself as Qyburn got back on his horse. For a moment before he left, Jon could have sworn Qyburn had looked right at him, but he was only looking at the window. He muttered something under his breath, but then he was gone.

With no time to waste, and knowing Sansa must be in a state upon hearing that Queen Cersei was coming for a visit, he leapt down from the ledge of the roof, circled the tower once to correct his angle, and directed himself toward the window. He could see her inside, pale and waiting, but he would be with her soon to comfort her.

He flapped a final time and coasted through the frame. Suddenly, every inch of his body was met with sharp, piercing pains, as though he had flown through a dense thicket of thorny rosebushes, the pain so intense that he dropped to Sansa’s floor. He heard her scream before he dropped out of consciousness.


	12. Lost

_You lost your whole life three years ago, and what is a man you’ve known for three weeks compared to everything you’d ever known?_ The only rational part of Sansa’s brain was very dimly registering in her consciousness. Every other part of her brain was screaming with her mouth as she ran to the crow bleeding upon her floor. _No, no, no, no, no, no!_ She didn’t know anymore if the screaming was in her head or out loud, she just knew that Jon was losing too much blood.

Too much blood. But surely, a human would have more blood than a bird? Bigger. He needed to be bigger, back to his full size. The book. Where was the book? There, the book. Sansa frantically flipped the pages. When she turned around, Jon was himself again.

But as he had grown, so had his wounds. They pierced his tunic like so many daggers, and blood continued to spill out of him. There was no way she could stem the bleeding herself, she was only one person.

Aunt Mags.

Aunt Mags had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Without her book, she never would have turned Jon into a crow. _You never would have loved him, either_. But if Aunt Mags got her into this, maybe she could get her out.

Sansa no longer needed fear her step-mother or her henchman; they had already done the worst they could do her. With abandon, Sansa screamed out the window for Aunt Mags to come save them, but Jon was still bleeding on her floor. If Aunt Mags could hear her, could get to her fast enough, what could she even do? There was still no way up into the tower. Sansa’s cries for Aunt Mags had devolved into wordless wailing, her despair taking to the wind like a frightened murder of crows.

_Think, Sansa, think!_ She was his only chance, but she had no experience in healing, certainly not of a man who was bleeding out. The only magic she knew was the magic the book let her have, and that had not saved him. If only she had another book that would bind wounds and bring the dead back to life!

But.

_Perhaps_ , she thought, _I have many books that tell me how to heal him. Magic is what caused this pain. Not any manmade dagger, no kick of a horse. Magic. Perhaps magic could be its ending? In the stories, one magic can overcome all other magics—true love._

Sansa still feared it might not be enough. She knew, she knew by now, that she loved this man. She had not told him who her family was or why she was locked away, and she suspected he might have secrets of his own, and she loved him still. As a girl, she had anticipated marrying for duty, and trusted her father would not marry her off to someone so vile that she could never love him. But to fall in love? On her own? With a man who knew not that she was a princess, that she was truly a queen by all the laws of the kingdom, but knew her for her very soul? Yes, she loved him. She regretted dearly that she hadn’t told him sooner, found some way to escape, consequences be damned.

But he had not declared his love for her, either. She thought she saw it in his eyes, heard it in his laugh, felt it in the gentle touch of his hand on hers. Sansa had to have faith, now. Surely their love was true, and surely, if their love was true, she could make him whole again.

Jon’s skin was deathly pale now, as he lay unconscious on her floor. Paying no heed to the blood that now only trickled from his wounds, she knelt beside him and brushed his lovely dark curls away from his eyes. How she had longed to feel them, to caress him gently. _You still may yet, Sansa. Have faith_. Bending over and drawing her face closer to him, she touched her nose to his. It was icy. A sob burst from her chest, but she had to try. Even more gently, she brushed her lips gently across his. They had never kissed; they had only truly embraced the one time, right after his first transformation. If magic failed her now, at least she would have this one moment. Now all she could do was wait.

And while she waited, she let the tears fall.

As she watched him, it _seemed_ like the bleeding was stopping, _but that would happen even if he died, wouldn’t it?_ Magic couldn’t always be instantaneous, Aunt Mags had told her enough for her to know that. She couldn’t just wait. Sansa began to clean the blood off her floor, using her precious stores of water to wash Jon’s skin and clothes clean. She had to remove his tunic, if only to see what his wounds were doing, so she washed it the best she could.

As the minutes dragged by, Sansa began to have hope. It was almost too subtle to notice, but she thought she could see raw pink skin closing in over his wounds, new scar tissue to make him whole again. She couldn’t make out any breath, but _magic takes time_ , she repeated over and over again.

The sky began to grow dark and Sansa lit her candles. It would be a vigil until she could know for sure whether he might awaken, but by now, she was sure that his wounds were closing up, which a dead man would not do. As the light faded, her hope grew. Right before the sun finally passed the horizon, she knelt again to look at him more closely.

“Jon. Come back to me, my love. Jon. Are you in there?”

The sun vanished. Jon’s eyes opened once more.


	13. Found

Jon found himself looking into Sansa’s blue, blue eyes, closer to his than they’d ever been before.

“Sansa?” he croaked. His throat was dreadfully dry, and his lungs felt like lead. He coughed violently for a moment before he caught his breath, but she was there. Sansa was there, holding him. He realized he was not wearing a shirt.

“I thought I’d lost you. I thought you were gone. Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry, I put you in danger by not telling you who I was, who I am, and who these people are that come here, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept murmuring how sorry she was into his hair as she embraced him again, like she had that first day.

The people who kept her there.

As he came back to his senses, the day came back to him. This was Princess Sansa of the Direwolf Realms. _Queen_ Sansa, by right. It was she whom he had fallen in love with, she with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. And Qyburn...Qyburn must be an agent of Queen Cersei, who locked Sansa here in the first place. Who was coming again in two days. And it was surely Qyburn, on Cersei’s orders, who had tried to kill him.

They tried to kill him.

Did they kill him?

Had he _died_?

How was he still sitting here?

Sansa was still sobbing incoherently into his shoulder, into his neck, into his hair.

“Sansa. What did they do to me? The last I remember, I felt like I was being stabbed as I flew through the window, but that couldn’t have been later than noon. What happened?”

Her eyes flickered down to his chest before she could speak, and his followed. His chest was covered in healed wounds, wounds that looked like they should have taken weeks to heal. Wounds that had not been there this morning. He looked at Sansa in amazement.

“How did you heal me? Did your magic book do it?” Sansa shook her head. “Your friend, then, the hedge witch?” Sansa shook her head again.

“No, it wasn’t Aunt Mags, or the book. I tried to call for her, but she didn’t come. No. I...”

She fell into silence, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Sansa?”

“I did it. I decided that if—if magic caused our problems, by making you a bird in the first place, and whatever magic Qyburn put in the window to cause you harm, then magic could end it. But I don’t know any magic, only what I’ve read about in books. But in books, there is one magic that can overpower any others, so...”

_A magic that would trump all other magic? That must be a powerful weapon indeed. Outside of spellbooks, what kind of magic would she know?_ His mind raced through all they had talked about in hours and hours of conversations. She loved to read tales of knights and maidens, of singers and poets, of true love—

True love.

That was it. Jon looked at her in wonder.

“Sansa,” he murmured, slowly, deliberately, “How did you save me?”

She looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, I know you couldn’t agree to it at the time, but it was the only thing I could do.”

“Sansa.”

“I—I kissed you, Jon. I had to trust that it would work, because I truly couldn’t be sure if you loved me as I loved you, but whether you do or you don’t, you must know now. I love you, I am in love with you. But I haven’t been truthful, and it got you hurt. I could never see that happen again.”

_She loves me_.

“Jon, my name _is_ Sansa, but it is Sansa _Stark_. By rights, I am the Queen in the North, the Queen of the Direwolf Realms. But my step-mother, Cersei, locked me here while my father lay dying, and has kept me here ever since. She is ruthless, merciless, and I know she is the one who somehow knew to hurt you. I don’t know how to keep you safe, I don’t know how to keep myself safe. But now you have the whole of it. I am a prisoner queen, and I am in love with you.”

Jon knew this already, of course. But he agreed with her: he didn’t know how to keep her safe, he didn’t know how to keep himself safe. He knew nothing.

_But perhaps..._

“Sansa, what is the hour? Is the sun long down?”

Sansa looked at him, startled. “No, the sun is not long down. Jon, did you hear what I sa—“

“Is the barrier still blocking the window? I must check.” Jon jumped to his feet, ignoring the swell of dizziness that nearly knocked him over, and went to the sill. Cautiously, he moved his hand to the outside. Nothing. Bolder, he waved it around, encountering no resistance. He turned back to Sansa, watching him worriedly.

“Sansa, turn me back into a bird. Now.”

She looked as though he had slapped her in the face. She took a deep breath.

“I d—If that’s what you think is best, then, of course, I shall.”

She paused, as if she was waiting for him to say something else. He might be hurting her, but there was no time. He had to leave.

“At once, Sansa, and when I get to the ground, turn me back immediately.”

Without another word, Sansa grabbed the book and flipped the pages. He darted out of the cleared window and to the ground, where he rapidly became his human self once more. He could hear Sansa’s sobs as he ran for his horse, his heart breaking with every one. _She will understand later_ , he told himself, though he wasn’t sure that she would. But he had to go home, and he had to do it _now._


	14. Frog

Maggy had heard the unearthly shrieks of the young woman she loved like family, but she knew she couldn’t go to her aid. This was something Sansa had to do on her own. She knew she had been in the right to ward Sansa’s tower against any but Qyburn who tried to come near, and she only let Qyburn in to keep the false queen from becoming suspicious. When she heard the whispers that the younger dragon prince had come to the northern border, she knew it was time to take down her wards (and, perhaps, send a breeze to scare a horse into running right to the tower). This is what had to happen. In some ways, Maggy blamed herself. She didn’t make the future, she only saw it, but perhaps if she had not told that golden-haired girl that she would become queen, or that a younger, more beautiful queen would take her place, then it would not have come to pass.

_No_ , Maggy told herself _, it would have happened, even if some other way. And then you wouldn’t have been there to keep the girl safe_.

Listening from her vantage point, Maggy heard when the sobbing stopped, and when a male voiced joined in with Sansa’s. _She’s saved him, she’s done it_ , Maggy wanted to shout. Instead, she waited. More talking, some raised voices, and the man, _Jon_ , _Prince Aemon_ , came to the window. Moments after he turned back around, his crow form was barreling out to the ground. He was leaving, and Sansa was weeping. Maggy sighed. She knew it had to be this way, but that didn’t mean she was going to like it.

For now, she could only let Sansa weep. Sansa was a smart girl, a strong girl. In truth, not a girl at all; a woman. She would understand that Jon would be safer elsewhere, away from her, even if that wasn’t entirely why he left, but she would also understand that to survive Cersei’s forthcoming visit, she had to play Cersei’s game.

The next morning, Maggy continued her surveillance. The land was quiet, Sansa’s weeping had ceased. She heard the sounds of life from the tower; of bathing and baking, dressing and eating. She summoned the breezes to garner a waft of lemon as the afternoon went on. Yes, Sansa knew that she must appear undamaged to the false queen. Maggy knew Sansa must hurt terribly, but Maggy at least knew that the pain would only be temporary. Now, all there was to do was wait one more day until the Queen came out.


	15. Queen

_Cersei will not win, not again_ , Sansa said to herself for what must have been the millionth time. The past day had been the hardest of her life. The day her mother died was a close second, her first day in this tower a third, but this outweighed them. Because it was her fault. If Sansa had been honest with Jon from the beginning, he would have stayed away. He wouldn’t have been hurt. She wouldn’t have loved him. She wouldn’t have lost him.

Of course he had to leave, what sane person would stay around and face certain death? He probably did love her, she knew that, but he was smart. He knew the situation was unwinnable if he stayed there. She only wished he could have left her with some words, anything to close the wound his brusque farewell had left. But she had only had one night to mourn, for the next day she must prepare to face her step-mother. Sansa knew all that remained to her against Cersei was to don her lady’s armor, all of her graces and courtesies, to retain her own self.

So she baked lemon cakes. She cleaned her home, perhaps for the last time. She completed the dress she had intended to make to wear the next day, the dress Jon had expressed a desire to see her in. She bathed herself, prepared her hair for slumber, and stared at the ceiling until the sun rose.

With the dawning of her twenty-first name day, and may very well be her last day on the earth, Sansa Stark rose from her bed and donned her dress, emblazoned with the roaring direwolf of her family line. She carefully swept her hair up like her beloved mother, and prayed that she might keep down some food. As the sun rose, Sansa listened for signs of visitors.

By noon, Sansa ceased to stand in the window and instead sat at her table, her hands folded and eyes closed. The sun was at its highest, surely they would be there soon. A moment later, Sansa thought she could perceive the faint clopping of many hooves, enough to pull a carriage.

Shortly she knew it must be Cersei and Qyburn. Of course Cersei would not have ridden openly through the country to find her here. Sansa wondered how she even got out of the capitol on such a secret business, but she supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Presently, the carriage pulled into the clearing. Qyburn reined the horses, hopped off the driving bench, and opened the door for the woman who had soundly destroyed Sansa’s life.

“Little dove! What a pleasure to see you. And on your name day, as well! Of course, a girl’s twenty-first name day is a special one, so I could not let it go unmarked for you. Pray, are you well?”

Sansa’s glare was stony as she surveyed the pair.

“Well enough, Mother. Better still for the gifts you have so graciously condescended to send to me.”

Cersei’s smile froze. Sansa knew she wished to see her broken, but she would not let her.

“Oh, how wonderful. I do so look forward to sharing the lemon cakes with you. You always had such skill in making them. A princess who could bake! What a wonderful thought.”

_I am not a princess,_ Sansa thought. “Yes, of course, Mother. Please, at your leisure, make your way to my chambers.”

Cersei’s eyes darted to Qyburn. _Perhaps they wonder if their enchantment upon the window was successful. I shall show them it was, and that they still have not wounded me._ Sansa leaned further out the window, until her torso looked down upon them. Their eyes widened and they exchanged another glance. “Pray, make haste!” Sansa called. “It is past midday, and I am eager to dine with you!”

Cersei stepped forward, her composed mask starting to slip. “Do not play this game with me, little dove! You and I both know how much pain you must be hiding under the—“

WOOSH.

Sansa’s eyes jerked to Cersei’s carriage, now a pillar of flame. A shadow passed overhead and Cersei and Qyburn jumped and ran to get away from the fire. Sansa saw the trees disturbed by a great gust of wind, and tried to determine its source. She saw looks of terror on the faces of the two in the clearing before she saw for herself—

A dragon.

As the dragon flew closer again, she saw more. There was a lone rider bent over the dragons back, directing his movements.

_Jon_.

Sansa could only watch as he flew the dragon back toward her clearing and landed it at the base of her tower.

“ _CERSEI,_ so-called Queen in the North! Come before me at once!” Jon’s voice had never sounded so commanding as it rang through the Wolfswood above the roaring fire that was once a coach. The ropes hitching the horses had singed through and the horses had fled all directions, and Cersei looked as though she too wanted to flee. But she could not run from a dragon.

“I am the Queen in the North, the Queen of the Direwolf Realms. They were left to me by my husband, who was betrayed by his heir, the girl you see in the tower here! She poisoned him, jealous of his love for me.” Even in such a serious situation, Sansa snorted. This was what Cersei had tried to say to explain her absence? Cersei continued. “Who destroys my possessions and challenges my rule?”

Jon glared down at her.

“You address Prince Aemon Targaryen, second son of King Rhaegar Targaryen, King of the Dragonlands.”

Sansa’s world froze.

_Prince Aemon? Jon is a_ prince _? Jon has a_ dragon _? Jon came back for me! Jon is going to save us both._

When time started again, Sansa was viewing the same scene with entirely new eyes.

“Step-mother, allow me to introduce you to the man I love,” Sansa called to Cersei. “But I think you may have known of him already? I would assume so, given that you almost killed him not two days ago.”

Cersei’s face contorted into a snarl, her mask of courtesy long gone. Sansa couldn’t tell who she was most furious at; the dragon, the man on the dragon, or Sansa herself, but Cersei’s first concern seemed to be Qyburn.

“You _imbecile_! You should have learned more of the man before you tried to kill him, and you should have _finished the job_! _Ineffectual, traitorous—“_

“My queen, I did all I could, I do not know how he is still breathing—“

“Cersei!” cried Sansa, halting the commotion.

She turned her hideous face to Sansa.

“Cold-hearted and conniving as you are, there are some things you clearly cannot understand. I always knew you did not truly love my father, but I would not have thought you so ignorant as to think you could separate two people who are truly in love. I brought him back, on my own, because I love him. I think I was always meant to love him. He left, it’s true, and I didn’t know if he would ever come back, but you did not kill him, and here he is!” Sansa turned her gaze to Jon.

“I was heartbroken when you flew out of my tower, but of course I should have had faith that you would come for me. I wish you had told me who you were, and about the dragon, before you went, but I know you had your reasons. You put this plan in motion; what next?”

Jon’s princely exterior softened for the briefest of moments as he smiled at Sansa’s words. It came back at her question, and he shouted out a few commands she didn’t understand.

Two score soldiers, dressed in Targaryen colors, burst from the forest, surrounding Cersei and Qyburn.

“Surrender, and my dragon won’t have you for his lunch. And you, Qyburn, after you’re in custody, open up the Queen’s tower. She’s been there long enough.” With that, Jon spurred his dragon up into the air and took off south.

The men closed around Sansa’s captors, seizing them. Qyburn went more quietly than Cersei, and the men took him to the back of the tower to open the secret door. Sansa waited with bated breath as she listened to the footfalls ascending to her door. Where had Jon gone? Why had he left? This wasn’t pressing enough for Sansa to refuse to descend the tower steps for the first time.

When she took her first step onto the grass, she almost burst into tears. If she didn’t want to retain the upper hand against Cersei, she would have fallen to her knees and kissed the ground. As it was, she needed to assert her sovereignty. Besides, her dress was new, and Jon may still come back to see her in it.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Aemon Targaryen, her prince, rode into the clearing. His horse was much taller in person, though perhaps all horses were just taller than she remembered. He turned his horse about to face her, and carefully dismounted.

There, upon the grass, he looked into her eyes once more. The earth stood still. Sansa couldn’t breathe, but the pounding of her heart was like to deafen her. She felt her breath hitch as her lungs begged for air, and she saw Jon’s eyes register the movement, breaking the stillness, and suddenly everything was moving faster than light, and Jon was _right there_ and

She was in his arms, and her lips were on his lips, and her life was in his hands, and her heart was whole.


	16. Epilogue

“You’re sure about being called ‘Prince Consort’?” Sansa shouted through the door of her dressing chamber. “I believe there would be precedent to naming you king, especially given your birth.”

“For the hundredth time, love, I’ve _never_ wanted to be king. I always figured I’d leave that to my brother and be done with the whole thing. How was I to know I’d marry a queen?”

Sansa rolled her eyes as her handmaidens helped clasp the final buttons on her wedding dress. “Surely you must have had some idea that our fathers had considered this match years ago,” she called back to him. “Or did your father not tell you who he planned to force you to marry?”

She heard Jon laugh gruffly. “Love, you know my father has done a great many things without telling me. Just because he’s been charming to you and because he’s not a complete tyrant doesn’t mean he was an ideal father. He wasn’t like yours.”

Sansa felt tears prick at her eyes. Being back at court, _back home_ , had been much stranger and much less happy than she had anticipated. There was so much to fix after these years of Cersei’s control, there was incessant commotion, and she was constantly surrounded by painful reminders of her beloved father. Cersei had taken away her final moments with him, and truthfully, it would be harder to forgive that than it would be to forgive being locked away in a tower.

But through all the pain and adjustment had been one spot of pure light: Jon. The man who saved her, the man who loved her, the man who had taught her to hope again had turned out to be the same brave, gentle, and strong man Sansa’s father had most seriously considered to be Sansa’s husband. _How right you were about him, Father_.

And very, very soon, that same man would become her husband, in front of the heart tree where her family had consecrated their vows to partners and to the realm for generations. The princess in the tower had found her prince, and his love is what had finally made her a queen.


End file.
